For If Dreams Die
by LadyofDodge
Summary: "I've never forgotten you, Kitty.  I've gambled my way from New Orleans to San Francisco a dozen times with stops in every major city in between, and I've yet to meet anyone like you. I have a proposition for you, Kitty, and I hope you'll say yes."
1. Chapter 1

FOR IF DREAMS DIE

"_Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken winged bird that cannot fly." _Langston Hughes

Note: The gentleman's name is pronounced [a-LEN], rhymes with "again."

Alain Dupré lifted his mouth from Kitty's soft lips long enough to murmur, "A very large man is watching us from the doorway, and, judging by his scowl, I don't think he's all that happy with what he's seeing."

His soft Creole accent fell pleasantly on her ears, instantly propelling her back to a time and place she wasn't certain she wanted to go. But she wasn't certain she didn't want to go there, either. She unhurriedly pulled her mouth away. "That would be the marshal," she responded quietly.

"Don't tell me it's against the law to kiss a pretty girl in Dodge." Alain feigned horror.

"No, Alain, it's not against the law, and I'm glad to see you, but could you be a little less demonstrative, please?" Kitty eased gracefully out of the dark-haired man's embrace. "Sit down, I'll get us a drink. Napoleon still your pleasure?"

He nodded. "One of them." He lifted a cryptic eyebrow.

Kitty brought a bottle of the brandy and two glasses to the table and slid into the seat next to her unexpected visitor. "Okay, Alain, I won't pretend I'm not curious. You're a city man. What brings you to this little cow town?"

"You do."

"I suppose I should be flattered."

"You should. That's a sincere compliment. I've never forgotten you, Kitty. I've gambled my way from New Orleans to San Francisco a dozen times with stops in every major city in between, and I've yet to meet anyone like you. I came to Dodge specifically to seek you out. I have a proposition for you, Kitty."

It was nearly midnight before Matt Dillon again paused in the doorway of the Long Branch Saloon. As always, his blue eyes sought out the stunning redhead who had been his woman for half a dozen years. He saw her standing at the end of the bar, a hard-boiled egg in one hand, chatting with two of the local ranchers. There was no sign of the dark-haired man he had seen earlier.

Another hour passed before the big lawman walked by the saloon again. This time the bar was dark, its doors closed and locked. He moved away from the building and tilted his head upward, not realizing he was holding his breath until he expelled it in a whoosh when he caught sight of the flickering light he had been seeking. Smiling slightly, he rounded the corner and approached the back stairs, climbing quickly and knocking on the old wooden door.

Kitty opened the door, her hair down and tumbling across her shoulders, a pale blue negligee tied loosely around her slender waist. "I was wondering if I'd see you tonight. Where were you all day?"

He shrugged. "Around."

"Well, yeah, it's just kind of unusual for an entire day to go by without seeing you at least once—when you're in town, that is."

"I came by this afternoon, but you were…uh…busy."

She looked at him a moment, frowning slightly, and then she remembered Alain's words: _A very large man is watching us from the doorway._

"Matt, if you want to know who he is, just ask." She poured a glass of rye and handed it to him.

He shook his head. "It's just that he looks like trouble, Kitty. Trouble you don't need and I don't want."

"Alain's not trouble, Matt. He's a gambler, and, while I doubt he's a hundred percent honest, he's not trouble. Not by Dodge standards, anyway."

"What's he doing here?"

"Always the lawman, aren't you?" She smirked. "As a matter of fact, he came all the way up here from New Orleans with a proposition for me."

Matt raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

She filled her own glass and nodded toward the settee. "Sit down and I'll tell you all about it." She settled next to him, close enough to be within the circle of his arm, but far enough away that she could watch his face as she spoke. She drew a deep breath and began. "His name is Alain Dupré, and I've known him forever. He was a regular at Panacea's, and I saw him around for a long time before I actually met him. Then, when I was fourteen, I graduated from suffering through the afternoon pick-up poker games—smiling and looking pretty, bringing drinks to the tables, emptying ash trays—to working the high stakes parties at night. That meant wearing prettier and more revealing dresses, being friendlier with the men, and earning tips for spending money. Alain took a liking to me, and he was…well, he was a client, Matt."

"The bast…" Matt exploded. "You were a child, Kitty."

"Easy, Matt. This isn't bad—really it's not. Do you want to hear or not?"

"Yes…no. I don't know. Do I?"

She nodded. "I think you should, just so you don't get the wrong idea. Alain was a client, but not in the usual sense. What he wanted was for me to sit on his lap while he was at the poker table. He called me his good luck charm. I would sit on his lap, and he would kiss my neck, maybe fondle my breast a bit, but that was about it. Truthfully, I was fascinated by the games—both the actual stud or draw being played on the table—and the mind games the men played with each other. Also, Pan had schooled us well in the art of poker, and I was pretty sure I could have played a lot of those hands better than most of the men. One night I decided to tell Alain so. Not at the table, of course, but later."

"Does 'later' mean what I think it means?"

She shook her head. "Hardly. I didn't know it at first, but Alain was…is…more interested in men than in women. I was a front for him. I just told you what he did in public, but he did far less in private—practically nothing. In retrospect, I suspect Pan knew this and gave me to him so I wouldn't get hurt…or grow up too soon, if you know what I mean."

"Pan's benevolence knows no bounds, it seems," he muttered.

She shot him a look and continued. "Anyway, at the end of the night, Alain would take me to dinner and sometimes to one of the after hours' clubs for more gambling. One night I got up the nerve to tell him he could have ended the evening a big winner if he hadn't been such a slipshod player. He got angry at first, but I went over every hand he had lost, every card he had held, discarded and drawn, and I pointed out where he had made his mistakes. By the time I finished, he was impressed. And it put a new twist on our relationship. From then on, I still sat on his lap, and he still touched me, and I touched him back, but now the touches were signals. I was telling him which cards to play, when to draw, when to stand pat…"

"So you were cheating…"

"Uh, not technically. I wasn't looking at anyone else's hand, wasn't telling him what cards they were holding. I was just helping him to play his own hand."

Matt laughed out loud. "You were a fourteen year old card sharp!"

Kitty laughed with him. "And I was a darned good one, too." She leaned her head back against his arm and closed her eyes, remembering. "Alain was kind to me. He never made any demands, never forced me to do any of the disgusting things the other girls talked about. He bought me nice clothes and took me to the theatre and opera and to all the finest restaurants—places I never would have had entry to without him. And he talked to me—about life and history and faraway places. He taught me a lot, Matt."

"Don't make him sound too generous. He was using you, Kitty." He shifted her closer into his embrace and murmured against her tumbled curls.

"Oh, I know he was using me, but I was using him, too. So long as I was with him, other men stayed away. They knew better than to mess with Alain Dupré's girl."

"Who was…is…he, besides a professional gambler who honed his trade with the help of a child?"

"Old money, Matt. Old family. Time was when the Dupré's owned half the property in the French Quarter. Alain was the youngest of three children. His sister Colette was lots older, and I don't really know anything about her. His brother Maurice was the proverbial black sheep, always in trouble with the law and in need of money—alcohol, women, gambling debts. But Alain was the crown prince. I doubt he ever held a real job in his life, he didn't need to. His idea of hard work was pouring over train and steamer schedules so he could travel from city to city looking for something to place a bet on. He followed the horses to Louisville and Lexington and Saratoga. When San Francisco became the new mecca for gamblers, he went there. He sailed to Europe for the opening of the casino at Monte Carlo. But he always went home—back to New Orleans, back to his family and back to Pan's." She sounded almost wistful as she nestled against the lawman's broad chest. "He's one of a kind, Matt, and I'll always be grateful to him."

Matt let his hand slip over her shoulder, his long fingers tracing lightly along the top of her breast. "So, are you going to tell me about this…uh, proposition?"

"I am. I'm just not sure what I'm going to do about it—if I'm going to accept it or not."

He tilted her face up to his. "Kitty? Maybe this is the part I don't want to hear."

She smiled. "It's a good offer. Alain has decided to become a legitimate business man. He's opening a gambling establishment in San Francisco, and he wants me to manage it for him. _And_ he's offering me forty-nine percent interest in the business—in _The Lucky Kitty_."

"You mean sell the Long Branch and move to San Francisco?"

She nodded. "Well, I'd have to move, but I wouldn't necessarily have to sell the Long Branch."

"But why would you give up sole ownership of one business for forty-nine percent of another?"

"Profit, Matt. Forty-nine percent interest in a gambling house in San Francisco will, in the long run, result in a lot more income than a hundred percent interest in a saloon in Dodge City."

"But you don't need money, do you, Kitty?"

"No-o-o, not right now. I know money isn't everything, but…I need to think about this, Matt, and about the future. I'm not ready to make a decision yet, but it's tempting." She smiled up at him. "And it _is_ San Francisco."

His lips brushed the top of her head. "I kind of thought you had given up on that dream. I mean, you haven't mentioned it in years."

"Ah, Matt—do we ever really give up on our dreams?" She smiled again and linked her arm in his as they walked toward the bedroom.

"Mmmm…" Kitty dropped a kiss on his shoulder and pushed the damp curls back from his forehead. "That was lovely, Matt."

She watched him brace his weight on his elbows and grin down at her. "Lovely enough to keep you from going to San Francisco?"

"Well…let's just say that performance definitely rates a spot in the 'reasons to stay in Dodge' column."

Even though it was too dark to see, she knew the color was rising on his handsome face as he continued, "Seriously, Kitty…"

"Seriously, Matt, I'd rather not talk about it right now. I have a lot of thinking to do, and I need to get some sleep."

As she settled against his side, she couldn't help but notice that the strong arm usually draped loosely around her waist was, tonight, holding her tight. And later, in the early dawn, she felt a gentle kiss against her tangled curls and a rich voice murmuring into them, "Please don't go away." Then the balcony door closed, and Matt Dillon stepped outside into the morning rain.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Six days later, a tired, dirty and grim-faced lawman walked back into the Long Branch. His eyes met Freddie's, and the barkeep inclined his head in the direction of the office.

At the familiar knock, Kitty closed the big, black ledger and swiveled the desk chair to greet him, a welcoming smile on her face—a smile that died the minute she saw his expression. "Who told you?"

"Obviously not you, so what difference does it make?" He spoke through gritted teeth. "Half the town has been very careful to drop their voices to a whisper when I approach, but I keep hearing 'Miss Kitty and that gambler' on everyone's lips." He hooked his thumbs into his gun belt. "I would have preferred to hear it from you."

"And I would have preferred to tell you myself, Matt. Honest. I didn't want you to find out this way, but I couldn't very well tell you while you were in Tascosa. And I didn't know when you were coming back. Did you expect me to sit at the entrance to town waiting for your return so I could be the first to break the news?"

He held up his hands. "Kitty, I'm tired. I shouldn't have started that way. It's just…let me clean up and get a couple hours sleep. I'll come back and we'll try again. Okay?"

"Sure." She noticed the slump of his shoulders as he turned toward the door. "And, Matt, I'm glad you're home."

Later, seated in her room among half-filled satchels and hatboxes and gowns, Matt broached the subject again. "Kitty, you know I would never presume to tell you what to do, but are you sure about this—that you're making the right decision?"

Her blue eyes met his. "As a matter of fact, I'm not. And I haven't made a decision. That's why I'm going to San Francisco—to look things over. I have a round trip ticket, and I'll be back in six weeks, maybe less."

He stood and walked to the small serving table, selected a bottle and poured himself a healthy glass of whiskey. "It's just that I have a bad feeling about this offer, Kitty—and about Dupré."

"You haven't even met him, Matt."

"I noticed. And why is that, I wonder?"

"You're determined to pick a fight, aren't you?" She stood and moved into the space behind him.

He put down his glass, turned and placed his hands on her shoulders. "No, I don't want to fight with you, Kitty. I don't ever want to do that." Long, calloused thumbs caressed her upper arms. "I'm sorry. I trust your judgment, and I know you won't do anything foolish, but…"

"But what?"

He shook his head. "I can't explain it, Kitty. But this whole thing just smells wrong to me." He neglected to add that after the bath house, he stopped at the telegraph office and sent wires to law enforcement agencies in New Orleans and San Francisco, as well as to other cities Kitty had said the gambler frequented. "Dupré still around?"

"He went to Abilene for a few days—said he had some business up there. He should be back tomorrow on the afternoon stage, and then…then I guess we'll be on our way Friday morning. Try to be happy for me, Matt. San Francisco is so vibrant and beautiful, and this could be a wonderful opportunity for me. It…"

Matt interrupted. "It sure sounds to me as if you intend to move there." He frowned. "Can't we at least talk about this? You've made Dodge your home. You're a successful business woman. I thought you liked it here."

"I do, Matt, but…well, I never really intended to stay, you know. Dodge was just a temporary stage stop along the way. Remember?"

"Well, yeah, but that was six years ago. Things have changed…haven't they?" His lips brushed the top of her head. "What about…about us?"

She leaned back to look into his face. "What about us, Matt? "

He looked uncomfortable. "I thought you and I…I mean we…we're kind of a couple, aren't we?" He swallowed. "We like each other, and we…well, we do things together."

"Oh, we do things together, all right." Her laugh was caustic. "We talk, we drink, we hang out with Doc and Chester, we play checkers and we eat at Delmonico's. That's our life, Matt. Face it, Dodge City is dusty and dull and not all that exciting." She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned into him. "Don't mind me. I'm just out of sorts tonight. I love you, Matt, and I love being with you—honest I do, but sometimes I get to thinking there's an entire world out there—and I'm missing it."

His arms tightened around her. "Funny, when I think about that entire world, I think I have it all right here—in my arms."

Over coffee in the saloon the next morning he tried again. "Still no chance I can talk you out of this?"

"No, but if you're so worried, you can go with me, you know."

"I can't, Kitty. I can't be away for that long." He pushed his hat back and sighed. "I wish Doc would get back; maybe he could convince you."

"For your information, Doc met Alain, and he liked him just fine."

"Well sure, but that was before you decided to go halfway across the country with him."

She smiled at the concern in his blue eyes. "Really, Matt, everything will be fine, and I'll be back before you even have time to miss me."

He rested his arm along the back of her chair and leaned closer. "Too late, I miss you already."

"Miss Kitty, Miss Kitty…" Their moment was interrupted by Barney, scurrying in and waving a yellow envelope. "This just come in from Abilene with instructions to deliver it to you personal."

Kitty carefully opened the telegram and scanned the sparse message. She turned to the telegraph operator hovering over her left shoulder. "Thanks, Barney. No need to send a reply." She looked at Matt. "It's from Alain. He says he's been delayed in Abilene. He wants me to take the train to Denver as planned, and he'll meet me there."

"I don't like the sound of this, Kitty."

"I admit I'm disappointed, but it'll be all right."

"Promise me you'll send a wire as soon as you get there. And send one to Doc, too, just in case I get called away."

"I will, the minute I get off the train." Remembering their sweet good-bye the night before in the privacy of her room, Kitty caressed his sleeve. "Don't look so worried, Matt. I'm a big girl, and everything will be fine." She spoke with more bravado than she felt. "Besides, I _have_ made this trip before, you know."

"Well, yeah, but that was different."

"Oh, how's that?"

He looked embarrassed. "I…well, you weren't important to me then." When she shot him a look, he added quickly, "I didn't even know you then, Kitty. But now I do, and you're…" He looked down into her eyes. "Well, you're real important to me."

She continued to hold his gaze for a long moment and then said quietly, "It's nice to be important to someone."

He smiled slightly and nodded. With his large frame blocking the view of onlookers, he leaned close and whispered, "Don't you get lost out there."

She smiled back. "I won't, Cowboy. I promise."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"And you didn't stop her?" Doc glared at the big lawman over the rim of his coffee mug.

Matt glared back. "I tried, Doc, but she…have you ever _met _Kitty—Kitty Russell? I wish you had been here; you might have been able to talk some sense into her."

"Not likely. You're the only one who could keep her in Dodge, and you blew it, by gum." Doc looked pointedly at his friend.

"She said she'll be back in six weeks." Matt squirmed in his chair and busied himself with straightening the papers on his desk. "You think she means it?"

"I do. Kitty isn't one to go off and do something half-cocked. She's always wanted to go back to San Francisco, and she saw this as a chance to do that and to investigate this business opportunity at the same time." He swiped his hand over his mustache, choosing his next words carefully. "As for her debonair escort—you get anything back from those wires you sent?"

Dillon's head shot up. "How'd you know I…" He shook his head. "Nothing. He's clean…no criminal record that I can find, not even a drunk and disorderly anywhere."

Doc let out a loud "Harrumph," adding, "I don't know if that's the good news or the bad news."

xxxxx

At three in the morning, Kitty deboarded the train at San Francisco's Market Street Station, hailed a redcap to gather her baggage, and turned toward the Western Union counter tucked into a far corner of the dark and deserted station. She had promised Matt that she would send a wire immediately, and she needed to keep that promise. She also needed to track down Alain Dupré. When he hadn't shown up at the depot in Denver, she had been concerned, more so than she wanted to admit to herself. The Alain she knew would never do that. She knew she should have exchanged her ticket and returned immediately to the safety of Dodge, but to do so would be to admit that she had been wrong, that she had misjudged, that she had made a mistake.

xxxxx

A scowling Matt Dillon sat at his desk, pretending to himself that he was completing paper work. Turning over one more page, he expelled an exasperated breath, threw down his pen, stood, stretched his long back and walked to the stove. He shook the coffee pot, found it empty, and slammed it back onto the stove, frowning even harder when Chester burst through the door.

"Telegram, Mr. Dillon. Barney said to give it to you first thing."

"Thanks." He quickly read the few words, then folded the yellow paper and stuffed it into his pocket.

"Sumthin' important, Mr. Dillon?"

"I assume so, Chester. It's from Bill Hickok up in Abilene—wants me to be sure to meet the afternoon stage."

"Well, forevermore…why's he want you to do that?"

"Don't know. It just says the driver is carrying something Bill wants me to take a look at, along with a letter of explanation."

"Well, what are you gonna do?"

Matt strapped on his gun belt. "First, I'm going to get some breakfast. Then I'm gonna go down to the stable and take a look at Buck's leg, and then, if things are quiet, I might take a nap." He took his hat from the peg inside the door. "Want breakfast?"

"But, Mr. Dillon, ain't you even curious?"

"I am, but not much I can do about it until the stage gets here—and that's gonna be at least six hours—so I might as well eat and sleep in the meantime. Come on, I'm buying."

With a thunder of hooves, the afternoon stage pulled into the depot. "Here you go, Marshal." Johnny Newton leaned down from the driver's seat. "Sheriff Hickok said to put this in your hand the minute I got here."

Matt reached up and took the envelope from the driver's hand. "Thanks, Johnny. After you unload, go on over to the Long Branch and tell Freddie to give you a drink on me."

"Will do, Marshal, and thanks."

Chester crowded close. "Well, ain't you gonna read it?"

"I am, Chester—in the office, not out here on the street."

Sitting on the corner of the table in the center of the small office, Matt read the letter from Bill Hickok through and then re-read it, more slowly the second time. He dumped the envelope's remaining contents onto the pocked table. Two poker chips. The red one landed face down, the figure stamped on the bone surface indicating its value as $5. The other, a ten dollar piece, fell face up and bore the words _Long Branch Saloon, Dodge City_ impressed into its bright blue surface. He knew without looking that if he turned the red one over, it, too, would read _Long Branch Saloon._

At the slight rattle of chips hitting the table, Chester leaned over the lawman's shoulder. "These are from the Long Branch, Mr. Dillon. How do you s'pose Wild Bill Hickok got a-hold of 'em all the way up there in Abilene?"

"Found them in a dead man's pocket. I'm afraid things don't look too good for Kitty's friend Dupré. In fact, I think he might be the dead man. "Here." He handed the single page to Chester. "You saw more of him than I did. You read it and see if the description fits." Leaving Chester pouring over the paper, Dillon stepped out onto the boardwalk and called to Doc, who was just leaving the general store.

Chester finished reading and handed Hickok's letter back to Dillon. "It sure sounds like that Dupré fella."

Matt handed the sheet of paper over to the physician as he entered the office. "Read this and tell me what you think. Could this be Kitty's friend Dupré?"

Doc looked questioningly at the lawman and began to read:

…_unknown man found dead two days ago behind Double Eagle Saloon. No identification on him, no money, but I found the enclosed chips in his vest pocket. Hoping you or Kitty might know him. He's about 40-45, 5' 9" with short dark hair and a close-clipped dark mustache. Dressed like a riverboat gambler—ruffled shirt, black silk vest embroidered with yellow flowers, black string tie, gold signet ring on little finger of right hand engraved with the letter "D." _

_Wire me with any information you can provide. Regards to the lovely Kitty._

_Bill Hickok_

Doc looked up from the page. "That's him. Or someone who looks and dresses exactly like him. What's going on, Matt?"

"I don't know, but I do know Kitty's alone—and maybe in danger."

xxxxx

Kitty's boot heels echoed through the empty station as she walked toward the Western Union counter to send the promised wires.

"Miss Russell."

Startled to hear her name, she spun around, one foot entangling itself in the hem of her gown. She stumbled and would have fallen if not for the strong hand that gripped her forearm, steadying her and holding her upright.

"You _are_ Kitty Russell, right?"

"I am." She moved away from the man's grasp, her blue eyes scanning his face. "I'm afraid you have the advantage, sir. I can't seem to place you. Have we met before?"

"No, ma'am, we have not. But we have a mutual friend. Mr. Dupré asked that I meet you and provide escort for you."

Relief flooded through Kitty's body. Alain was all right, and he was in San Francisco. Or was he? The stranger had said, _'Provide escort for you.' _Not 'escort you to him.'She looked at the man. He was of mixed ancestry, she was certain, with blond hair. He wore the clothes of a big city businessman. "How can I be sure that Mr. Dupré sent you?"

He nodded as if anticipating the question. "He said you were shrewd, and that I should show you this." He reached into his vest pocket and handed her a bright blue poker chip bearing the _Long Branch Saloon_ imprint.

She smiled, remembering. On his final night in Dodge, Alain had won the last hand and cashed in his winnings, except for three chips totaling $25, chips he said would bring good fortune to their new establishment and that he would embed into the bar of _The Lucky Kitty_. "Of course, Mister…?"

By way of response, the man caught her around the waist, holding her in one arm and slapping a chloroform-soaked cloth over her nose and mouth with his free hand.

xxxxx

"She's in trouble, Doc." Matt tried to speak casually as he and the physician left the telegraph office, but concern was clear in his voice.

"Now hold on a minute, Matt. We don't know that."

"Not specifically, but think about it. First Kitty gets a telegram, allegedly from Dupré, telling her he's been delayed in Abilene and that he'll meet her in Denver. Then Hickok sends me some Long Branch poker chips from a dead man's pocket and a description we all agree could very well be Dupré." He stopped walking and faced the older man. "She promised to send wires to both of us the minute she got off the train in San Francisco. We just verified that the train arrived on time and that she was on it. And that she got off. That would have been six hours ago, and neither one of us has heard a word. _And _she hasn't checked into the hotel." The concern in his voice turned to worry as he reviewed the series of events. "She's in trouble, Doc. I know she is."

"Assuming you're right, what do you intend to do about it?"

Turning toward the door of the U.S. Marshal's Office, Matt Dillon answered with a single word. "Pack."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Once on the train, Dillon reflected on the rapid sequence of events and on his own actions. Doc had urged him to wait a day, to give the authorities in San Francisco time to begin an investigation and to respond to the barrage of telegrams he had sent. But a westbound train was leaving in four hours, and if he was on it, he reasoned, he would be that much closer to his destination. If it proved to be a false alarm, he could change trains in Denver, Laramie, Reno, anywhere along the route, and head back to Dodge. Among the wires he had sent was one to Bill Hickok in Abilene. A reply was waiting for him in Denver, indicating there were no new developments in the murder case. There was no word from the San Francisco police, but wires from Doc awaited him at every telegraph stop along the route and confirmed his worst fears. Still no word from Kitty. With every click and clack of the wheels, his last words to her echoed in his head. _You're real important to me. _

How that had happened, he wasn't sure. Years before he had vowed never to get seriously involved with a young lady, never to marry, to know the pleasures of a wife and children. And that promise had served him well for a lot of years. Oh, there had been girls, of course, and women, too, flirtatious and attractive, but he generally found them lacking, and he had always been able to walk away—if they didn't walk first. Then one day, a slip of a girl with flame colored hair walked out of the rain and into his heart, wrapping the warmth of her smile around him.

He slouched in his seat, pulled his hat low over his eyes and allowed the swaying of the train to lull him to sleep. Soon the unrelenting cacophony of the wheels was replaced with the steady pounding of rain on a dirt street. The train became a stagecoach, and the white-haired grandmother across the aisle turned into an exquisite redhead with laughing eyes of the deepest blue he had ever seen. He smiled in his sleep. She hadn't tried to entice him with feminine wiles, didn't cling or whine. She didn't hang on his every word and tell him how wonderful he was, then try to change him. Instead, she was a competent and accomplished woman in her own right, one who accepted him on his own terms, challenged his mind with her own, and expressed her own dissident opinion more often than not. And at night, when he lay in her arms, he felt the cares of the day drain away as she talked to him, reassured him, giving solace to his soul with her words and to his body with her own. Yes, she was important to him—very important.

xxxxx

Kitty opened her eyes to darkness so thick she at first thought her eyes were still closed and, in fact, raised her hand to them to be certain they were open. The room, if indeed that's what it was, was damp and chilly. She shivered and realized that she was unclothed. She spoke aloud, but the sound fell flat, not giving a hint as to where she was. Frantic, she felt around for her clothing, a blanket, anything to cover and warm herself. Nothing.

As her eyes adjusted slightly to the darkness, she dared to venture off the cot, at least she assumed that's what it was based on the thin mattress and narrow dimensions. Sitting on its edge, she swung her feet onto the floor and touched cold, hard-packed ventured off the bed and slowly, carefully walked a few steps forward until she reached a wall. Moving her hands along the wall, she felt for a door, a window, any kind of opening, but, as best she could tell, there was nothing but solid wall, cold and slightly damp, reminding her of the root cellars whose slanting wooden doors dotted the Kansas prairie. She followed the wall around the other three sides of the room. Two sides revealed only wall, but on the third and final side she found a door, made of rough, unfinished wood. Searching for a doorknob, she found a heavy latch. Below it was a large keyhole, but no key. She rattled the latch, pulling as hard as she could. She screamed for help, but was greeted by nothing other than the sound of her own panicked gasps for breath. Defeated, and with arms outstretched to ward off an encounter with unknown obstacles, she slowly made her way back to the cot and lay down to think about a plan, to think about escape. The squeal of the coiled springs brought fleeting memories of stolen nights at the jail with Matt, and tears stung her eyes. She rubbed at them with the back of her hand, feeling more frightened and alone than she had ever felt in her life. _Oh, Matt, you were so right. _

She fell into a fitful sleep, only to be awakened by the rattling of a key in a lock, the sound of booted footsteps crossing the room, and the voice of the man from the train station saying, "Ah, Miss Russell, I thought you would be awake by now."

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"My name, although it is of no importance, is Joseph."

"Well, Joseph, where the hell am I and why? What do you want with me?"

He chuckled slightly. "Oh, I want nothing with you, Miss Russell. I am only the procurer. Mr. Dupré will visit you in a little while. In the meantime, you need to bathe and attire yourself in this." He placed a neatly folded white robe at her side, then stepped momentarily outside the door and re-entered with a washbasin, towel, washcloth and an oval cake of jasmine scented soap—a fragrance that reminded her of the years spent at Panacea's, and one she had never particularly liked.

Her hand reached out, touching a robe made of thin silk. She was about to refuse, but logic told her that cooperation might work to her advantage. And she would at least have a robe to wear. "I suppose you're going to watch me while I bathe?"

"No, Miss Russell, I will not watch. I will give you your privacy. But should you entertain any thoughts of escape, be advised that I have brought Thunder and Lightning with me. They will remain just outside." He opened the door wider this time, and with the backlighting from the other side, she had a clear and frightening view of two giant mastiffs, direct descendants of the famous bull and bear-baiting dogs once popular throughout the European continent.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

"Ah, my sweet, so lovely to see you again."

Kitty shot straight up in the bed. The darkness still prevented her from seeing clearly, but the soft voice was familiar. "Alain?" she whispered.

"No, my dear, not Alain, but you _do_ know me. At least I trust you have not forgotten." He sat down on the edge of the cot. "Hmmm, you smell good…jasmine…exactly as I remember."

The voice…if not Alain… "Maurice? Maurice Dupré? Is it you?"

"Very good, Kitty. Sharp as always." His hand reached out and brushed tangled curls from her face.

She shrank back from his hand. "Don't touch me, Maurice. And what the hell is this all about? Where's Alain? Give me my clothes and let me out of here."

"Haven't lost your spunk, I see. Patience, Kitty, patience." He touched her cheek. "I've waited a lot of years for this, and I'm going to enjoy it—and you."

"So help me, Maurice, if you touch me again, I'll scream my head off."

His white teeth gleamed as he smiled in the dim light. "Scream as much as you like, my dear, but no one will hear."

"Why are you doing this, Maurice, and where is Alain?" She was suddenly afraid for her old friend as well as for herself. "Is he your prisoner, too?"

"No, my brother is not here. I'm going to have you all to myself."

Anger won out over fear, and Kitty's temper flared. "Oh, no. You're not _having_ me, Maurice, not in any sense of the word."

"Don't worry, Kitty. I'm not going to hurt you. I would never do that." He touched her face again. "I just want what my brother had. Alain, the golden boy. He had everything—looks, luck, money…you. And now it's my turn. With him out of the way, I finally have a chance. His life will become my life."

Kitty's blood ran cold. "Maurice, what are you saying? Alain's 'out of the way'? Why didn't he meet me in Denver? What have you done to him?"

His smile was almost a leer in the dark. "All in good time, Kitty. I was always in his shadow—my _little_ _brother_." He spat out the last two words and then added, "And even now, your thoughts are of him, not me. No 'Hello, Maurice, nice to see you, how have you been?' Is that any way to treat an old friend?"

With as much sarcasm as she could muster, Kitty replied. "Forgive me, Maurice, if I have neglected my manners. I fear Panacea did not school me in the proper etiquette for an occasion such as this." Shivering, she gathered the diaphanous gown closer to her body and went on. "And just for the record, you were never my friend. I tolerated you for Alain's sake, but friends? I think not."

He continued as if he had not heard. "I've dreamed about you, Kitty. I always did. I've wanted you for a very long time. I used to sit across the gaming table observing you with my brother, watching his hands on your body, and I dreamed about what I could do to you, how I could please you."

"This is disgusting, Maurice. It's sick. I was a child, for God's sake, and I was never, never _with_ Alain. The very idea is preposterous!"

"Perhaps not 'with him' in the conventional sense of the word, especially given his…uh, proclivities, but your affiliation with him guaranteed that you were off bounds to any other man. And you may have been a child in years, but you were a woman in every other sense of the word—a beautiful, intelligent and desirable woman." His hand stroked her bare forearm. "And desire you, I did. And now it's my turn to have you." He watched her cringe at his words. "Do not worry, my dear, we will begin slowly, of course, doing only what you and my brother did—no more, no less—for with his demise I have become him, and it would dishonor his memory if I were to force you."

"Demise? Memory?" Kitty repeated. "Alain is dead?"

He laughed aloud. "Looks as if his luck ran out in Abilene."

Kitty tried not to let horror color her voice. "You were the business he had in Abilene, weren't you? Did you kill him yourself, or did you hire someone to do it for you?"

Once again, he touched her cheek and throat, saying, "No need to worry your pretty little head with the sordid details, my dear."

Drawing a deep breath, she suffered the caress. "Of course, as…as you said, he's out of the way now, so let's forget about him. Tell me more about your plans for me...for us," she said, pretending to go along with the insanity.

"Ah, that's more like it, my love. Yes, I have plans for you—for us. I'll buy you new clothes, fine gowns. You'll sit on my lap and I'll touch you—fondle your breasts, kiss you. I'll do everything my brother did, and, eventually, more. I can do so much more for you than he ever could, and you'll learn to love me in a way you never loved him. You'll like that, won't you, my sweet?"

Kitty nodded and whispered, "Yes, I'll like that. And, Maurice, if I have fine gowns, we should go places to show them off. What's the point in having fine things if no one can see them? Alain always took me to the best restaurants and to the theatre. Can we do that, too?"

"Oh, you are the clever one. But I'm afraid not, Kitty, at least not for a while. I need to know I can trust you before we go out in public. I need to know you won't try to run away from me." He ran his hand down her arm. "No, my dear, we need to stay right here, at least for the time being."

"Of course," she acquiesced. "Then could you at least tell me where 'here' is? What is this place?"

"You don't know? I would have thought you would have figured it out by now." His laugh was maniacal. "This, my dear, is your new business establishment. This is _The Lucky Kitty_."

Her heart pounded as the puzzle pieces slammed together in her mind. "Of course—and this is an empty wine cellar."

xxxxx

Taking a breath of the thick, moist air, Matt Dillon stood on the platform and looked around. He had formulated a plan on the train, and now he needed to put it into action. He retrieved his single bag and asked a porter for directions. Then he crossed Market Street and walked the few blocks to Montgomery Street and The Palace Hotel. From the outside, the huge white stone building lived up to its name, and the opulence inside was well beyond what his bank account could afford. But it was the place where Kitty mentioned Dupré had made a reservation for her, and he approached the desk, hoping against hope that he would see her familiar signature on the register.

He identified himself to the desk clerk as a lawman and was immediately granted access to the leather bound book. Careful scrutiny of each entry for the preceding five days revealed no Kitty Russell, no Kathleen Russell, and he listened as the young clerk solemnly swore that he had not seen anyone fitting her description, helpfully adding that he definitely would have remembered her. Embarrassed by his lack of financial resources, Matt self-consciously inquired about a less expensive place to stay and was directed to the Mission District, with its series of immigrant boarding houses and rooms for rent. As his long legs covered the few blocks to the heart of the area, his keen eyes searched every face, every doorway, every street corner, hoping for a sign of the woman he desperately wanted to find.

Over the next few days, Matt walked the sloping, fog-swept streets of San Francisco, as strange to him as the flat, dry plains of the mid-west were familiar. The local authorities, while not unsympathetic, also were not rushing to assist him, explaining that San Francisco was a big city and it would be easy for a woman to get lost if she so desired. "Happens all the time," the police chief repeated for the third time, as if speaking to a slow child. _But she doesn't 'desire,' damn it, _Dillon fumed to himself, expressing his frustration only slightly more politely to the chief. And so he searched alone—block by block, stopping to speak to every newsboy, every vagrant, every passerby. Not wishing to appear overly conspicuous on the streets of the sophisticated city, he abandoned his gun belt, red shirt and vest in favor of his white shirt and courtin' coat, one pocket of which carried his Colt, while the other was lumpy with extra ammunition. The badge that identified him as a U.S. Marshal was tucked inside his wallet, ready to reveal if necessary. He ventured into ladies' apparel stores in the shopping district and into tea rooms on Nob Hill. He roamed the Barbary Coast, this time hoping that no one _had_ seen her flaming red head among the multitude of slave and opium dens that infested the area. And, of course, he inquired about Alain Dupré's fledgling gambling establishment, finding, to his surprise, that it was legitimate. He walked to the site, but found it dark and locked. He rattled the door knob and pounded on windows, but no one responded, and he made a mental note to return later.

xxxxx

Locked below ground, Kitty periodically rattled and tugged at the door, eliciting earsplitting barking and snarling from the dogs keeping watch on the other side, but nothing more. She tried to keep track of the days by the number of breakfasts she ate. Joseph brought her an oil lamp and a hair brush, and he faithfully delivered three meals a day, food good enough to rival the cuisine in San Francisco's finest restaurants. Twice daily he brought fresh, warm water, and a clean nightgown each morning. He brought a blanket and slippers and a book for her to read. When, in a moment of total despair, she said she wanted to write out a will, he brought her a pen and a sheet of paper. And, oddly, he brought friendship and comfort—of sorts.

One morning, as she buttered her toast, she engaged him in conversation. "Why is he doing this to me, Joseph?"

"He's a twisted man, Miss Russell—a very twisted man. I suspect he frequents the opium dens on the Barbary."

"Would you consider helping me—getting me out of here?"

"Would that I could, miss, but even though I move about the house freely, I am as much a prisoner as you are."

"But surely you go out, at least to the market, this food is fresh—and delicious, by the way. Do you do the cooking, too?"

He smiled slightly. "Thank you. I do cook, but I do not go out. The food is delivered from the market each morning. I have not been outside of these walls alone since…well, since the night I met you at the train station."

"How long have you worked for him?"

"Oh, he's not my employer, miss. He owns me."

"He can't own you, Joseph. It's against the…the constitution for one man to own another."

"Technically, you are correct, but he owns me just the same, and I must do his bidding. As I said, he is a twisted man. I think his mind is gone."

That night, when Joseph brought her evening meal, Kitty pursued their earlier talk. "How does he own you, Joseph?"

"I can't talk about that, Miss Russell. Suffice it to say that so long as I do as he asks, he will not go to the authorities about me."

"That's blackmail, Joseph, he can't do that. What kinds of things does he ask you to do for him?"

Joseph shook his head and looked ashamed. "This…kidnapping you is the worst thing he has forced me to do."

"But what's his game? Gambling? Opium? White slavery?"

"There's probably not a crime in the bay area that he hasn't dabbled in. Still, he's never been successful at any of them."

Kitty pushed harder. "Then what power does he have, what is he holding over you?"

Joseph looked uncomfortable. "I did something very wrong, something against the law. Mr. Dupré knows that I am guilty, and that is what he holds over me." He busied himself with setting out the dinner dishes on a small, round table that now occupied the center of the room. "I do his bidding and he sends money to my family. In an odd sort of way, I can help to support them, even if I can't see them."

"That's wrong, it's just wrong. Where is your family and when did you last see them?"

"It's been three years; they are in Chicago. It seemed big enough and far enough away from me for them to be safe. My wife is…she uses her father's name. She works in a hospital there, and my son is enrolled in school." He gave her one of his rare smiles. "He's ten, and he's a fine boy. My daughter is just three."

Kitty pushed her food around on the plate as she thought. Then she slowly chewed a bite of the filet, swallowed and spoke her thoughts aloud. "Joseph, in spite of the fact that you kidnapped me, I believe you are a good person. Maurice can't continue to get away with this. I have a friend, a very good friend. If you can get word to him, he'll help you, he'll help us both."

"No one's going to help me, Miss Russell. As far as the world is concerned, I'm just another black man who killed a white man."

Kitty didn't blink. "My friend is a lawman, and I promise you, he's a different type of lawman. He believes in justice for everyone, and he can't be bought. He will help you. Please, please contact him, Joseph, for both our sakes."

"I wish I could, Miss Russell.

She tore a strip of paper from the fly page of the book he had brought her and scribbled a line. "In case you ever change your mind," she said as she handed it to him.

xxxxx

Day after day Kitty remained locked in the wine cellar with no means of escape, no way to attract attention, no way to gain help. And night after night, she endured the repugnant caresses of Maurice Dupré. Night after night he entered the small room where he kept his prisoner, sitting down at the small, round table and gathering her onto his lap. He would then proceed to deal out hand after hand of stud to the invisible players around the table, all the while fondling Kitty as she sat on his lap, reluctantly touching him in return, signaling which cards to play. Each night, after he amassed the fortunes of the non-existent players, he would kiss her, pushing his tongue against her clenched teeth, and leave her to spend the night alone on the narrow cot. And while the giant mastiffs kept guard outside the door, Kitty lay in her bed and wept, tears of frustration and fear seeping from her closed eyes and running backwards into her curls.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Each day Dillon continued to search the busy streets of the strange city. He knew he couldn't stay indefinitely, but neither could he leave without Kitty, or at least without knowing she was safe. Regular contact with Doc and Bill Hickok told him nothing more than he had known when he left Dodge a few weeks earlier. At some time each day his route took him to _The Lucky Kitty_, but each visit was as futile as the first. He even tacked a note to the wooden door, asking anyone who read it to contact him at the rooming house.

And now the note was gone. With a ray of hope, he again pounded on the door, calling out for Dupré, calling for Kitty. But, again, there was no answer. Angry and dejected once more, he crossed the street and walked into _The Golden Gate Saloon._ They knew him there, and the girls no longer attempted to entice the big, handsome man with the sad blue eyes who ordered a drink or two and sat a few hours each day watching the vacant gambling parlor on the other side of Post Street. Weary in mind and body, he ordered a shot of whiskey and sat down to think. He knew he had to face the fact that the police chief might be right—that Kitty did "desire" to disappear into the crowd. He downed the drink and ordered another. It made no sense, but then nothing had made any sense since he put her on the train several weeks ago. '_Don't you get lost out there. I won't, Cowboy, I promise.'_ He dropped his head into his hands. _Damn it, Kitty, where are you?_ He finished the second drink, and, with a loud sigh, pushed himself up from the chair by the window and moved on down the street, absently dropping a few cents into the cap of a beggar on the street corner. As he moved on by, his tired mind slowly registered what he had seen in the cap. Something bright blue among the jumble of pennies and random larger coins. He turned quickly, back-tracked the few steps, and knelt by the beggar. It wasn't Jesse, the blind boy who had been there every day, but an older man who, mistaking the giant stranger's intent, quickly clutched his cap against his chest and shrank back against the wall of the building.

"It's all right, sir, I'm not going to rob you." Matt spoke gently. "I was just wondering about the blue item in your cap. Would you show it to me, please?"

"Why'd you wanna see it?" His breath was rancid with stale food and cheap whiskey.

"I think I might have one like it in my pocket. Would you like to see mine?"

The man nodded, but still looked suspicious.

Slowly, so the man would know he intended no harm, Matt withdrew the blue disk from his shirt pocket, placed it in his huge palm, and held it out for the vagrant's inspection. "My name's Matt."

Still wary, the man muttered, "Albert," and lowered his cap from his chest to his lap, poking with filthy fingers at the collection of coins until he freed his own blue disk.

Matt fought to control his excitement as the identical twin to his own poker chip emerged from the grimy cap. "Albert, do you know where you got this, did you see the person who gave it to you?"

The man nodded. "Albert sees everything."

In spite of the foul odor emanating from Albert's body, Matt leaned closer. "That's good, Albert. Now tell me what the person looked like."

Albert continued to stir the coins around in his cap for a moment and then answered. "Tall…not as tall as you, though. Not a man of color, but not exactly white either. And with light hair."

"How long ago was that, Albert? Was it this morning?"

Albert squirmed uncomfortably. "Sometimes…sometimes I kinda lose track of time." He patted the bottle in his pocket.

Matt smiled. "Sure, Albert, I understand. Now think carefully, is there anything else you remember?"

"Well…" Albert's nicotine-stained finger pointed across the street to _The Lucky Kitty_. "He come outta that building over there."

Dillon's adrenaline surged. "You're sure?"

"Sure's I'm sittin' here. He come outta the building and looked around like he wasn't sure which way he wanted to go." Albert paused, and, taking his time, removed the bottle from his pocket, uncorked it, took a sip, and wiped his sleeve across his mouth before continuing. "Then he crossed the street and bought a paper from the newsboy. When he walked by me, he threw his change and that blue thing in my cap."

Matt took a deep breath, "Did you see which way he went?"

Albert shook his head. "He went around the corner here, but after that, I couldn't see."

"Thanks, Albert, you've been very helpful." Matt showed the vagrant a silver coin. "Would you trade me that blue chip for this?"

Albert again looked suspicious. "You mean it? Mine ain't real money, ya know."

"I know, but it's important to me. I'd like to have it, and I'd like you to have this." He placed the silver coin into the man's cap and picked out the blue one. "Deal?"

Albert nodded and bent his head over the cap, contemplating his new wealth.

xxxxx

Matt carefully knotted Albert's poker chip into his handkerchief and stuffed it into the pocket of his pants, returning the chip found on the dead man's body in Abilene to his shirt pocket. He stood for a minute, deciding which way to turn—the building across the street, police headquarters or, on the off chance that Albert hadn't lost too much track of time, should he search the streets for a tall, not white, not black man with light hair?

The answer was obvious. _The Lucky Kitty_ was only a few steps away. The man would have to wait. Dillon's long legs re-crossed the street, and once again he pounded on the door of the gambling parlor, this time knowing someone was, or had been, inside. And this knowledge gave him something he hadn't had before—reasonable suspicion to break into the building. If he was wrong, he would be visiting police headquarters soon enough; if he was right, he may have saved a life—and solved a murder.

He walked around to the back of the building, pounded on the wooden door to what he assumed was a storeroom, and, when there was no response, drew the weapon that had not left his coat pocket since the day he arrived in the city. With one sure shot, he blasted the lock and cautiously entered the darkened room. Finding no one there among the packing cases and barrels, he moved into a hallway that led him to a large gambling parlor, one wall of which was lined with a dozen one-armed bandits. An array of tables covered with traditional green felt filled the center of the room, and one corner contained a roulette wheel, while another wall was home to a faro table. And along a third wall, a highly polished bar ran nearly the entire length, complete with shining brass foot rail and brass spittoons placed every few feet. Again, finding no sign of occupancy, he turned to the door marked "PRIVATE." Finding it locked, he kicked it open and forced his way in. The office contained only a roll-top desk and a swivel chair on casters. Two black ledgers inside the desk contained neat columns of figures—debits and credits in one, and in the other, a stack of packing slips, bills of lading, bank notes and receipts, all carefully arranged in chronological order. He wished he had time for more than a cursory glance at the bookkeeping.

He moved to the bottom of the stairs and looked up. He saw a room directly ahead and began the climb upward. Whatever the room was intended to be, it was currently empty. Moving along a narrow hallway, he pushed open the next door and found it empty, also. The next room revealed a bed and washstand on the wall opposite the door. Stepping inside, Dillon saw a narrow wardrobe behind the door. Opening it, he found two men's suits and several white shirts, all neatly pressed and on hangers. He removed one of the suits and measured it against his own long frame. The owner was tall, not as tall as himself, but a tall man just the same. He inspected the brush and comb on the washstand, carrying them to the window for better light. The comb revealed a hint of hair pomade, and the lawman's heart began to beat faster as he looked carefully at the brush where several short blond hairs were mixed among the stiff bristles. He returned the grooming set to the washstand and moved on to the last room, opening the door with ease. He was surprised to see a half-dressed man lying on the bed. Closer inspection revealed that the man was not dead, as he had first thought, but merely in what appeared to be a very deep sleep. And, incredibly, the sleeping man looked very much like a slightly older version of Alain Dupré. Matt grabbed the man by the shoulders and shook him. No response. He shook harder. Nothing. He slapped the man's face, but still there was no response. He yelled at him, slapped him again, pulled his hair, but all of his efforts were to no avail. Whether the man was drunk or drugged, Dillon wasn't sure, but no matter which, he was in no condition to answer questions concerning Kitty's whereabouts. A soft leather wallet lay on the dresser, and Matt checked it for identification. He found a hundred dollars in bills of various denominations and a receipt from the Double Eagle Saloon in Abilene, dated nearly a month earlier. The scrawled signature read _Alain Dupré_. Matt shook his head. Things weren't adding up. But the man on the bed, whoever he was, obviously wasn't going anywhere soon, so he closed the door and returned to the main floor of the establishment with plans to wait and question the unknown man when he awoke.

He made his way back to the office and pulled out the swivel chair, intent on sitting down at the desk and taking a closer look at the books, but his boot accidentally kicked at one of the rollers, sending the chair flying across the room and crashing into the wall on the opposite side. Immediately the room was filled with the sound of barking, barking that was coming from somewhere beneath him. A quick search through the rooms showed no staircase leading to a lower level, and the farther he moved from the office, the fainter the barking became. He returned to the office and looked around more carefully. He kicked the chair into the wall again, deliberately this time, and the barking grew louder, as if directly under him. As he stared at the floor, he saw that a section of board had been cleverly cut as a trapdoor. He toed the knot in the center of the grained wood, and the door creaked open an inch, enabling him to slip his hand into the opening and lift the lid. There was a ladder in place, and he descended quickly, but not before checking the Colt in his pocket. Once at the bottom, he found himself in a passage so narrow it was impossible to stretch his arms out from his sides without hitting the walls. The barking continued, and it was closer now. And above the snarling and barking was the sound of a woman's high pitched scream for help. He moved as quickly as possible along the narrow passageway until he came to a wooden gate, locked, of course. And directly behind the gate were two huge dogs with angry eyes gleaming in the dark. And, on the other side of the gate, beyond the dogs, was another door. His gut told him it was Kitty's screams coming from behind that door.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven **

Matt shot the lock from the gate and rushed through, heedless of the barking, snarling mastiffs. Immediately they leaped nearly to his height and lunged at his body, their combined weight knocking him off balance and slamming his right shoulder into the wall. As pain coursed down his arm, his fingers opened, and the Colt dropped to the floor of the passageway. He crouched to retrieve the gun, and as his left arm reached out to grab it, one of the animals charged again, huge, pointed teeth connecting with his forehead. Stunned, and with blood running from the wound, the big man fumbled again for the gun, grasping it in his left hand and getting off an unbalanced shot that temporarily subdued the ferocious mastiff. The second dog lunged forward as if to replace his injured comrade, but this time Matt was ready for him. Righting himself, he shifted the gun to his aching right hand and pulled the trigger just as the dog leaped forward, the bullet piercing cleanly into the soft underbelly. The animal howled in pain and then dropped to the floor, silent and unmoving.

Now that quiet had returned to the passageway, save for the whimpering of the injured dog, he could hear soft cries coming from beyond the door. "Kitty…Kitty? Is that you?"

Silence. He called again. "Kitty? It's Matt."

Another moment of silence and then a tremulous, "Matt? Matt, is it really you?"

"It's me, Kitty. Are you all right?"

"Yes…mostly. But I'd be a lot better if you'd get me out of here."

He couldn't help but grin—she was all right. "Anyone in there with you?"

"No. Please, Matt, get me out of here."

"I will…in just a minute. There's something I need to do first. In the meantime, I want you to move over to this wall and stand as flat against it as you can—and as far from the lock as you can. I'm going to blast the lock off and I don't want you in the line of fire. Can you do that?"

"Yes." Her voice was still shaky, but stronger.

"Good. Uh, and put your hands over your ears."

"Hurry, Matt!"

The lawman turned back to the profusely bleeding dog and fired a mercy bullet directly into the animal's skull.

Kitty screamed. "Matt!"

"It's all right, Kitty. Are you against the wall?"

"Yes."

"Okay, don't move," he said, shooting at the wrought iron latch, which came loose, but didn't break. He tore at it with his bare hands, but it continued to hold. "Kitty, try jiggling it from your side."

He heard the latch rattle as she pulled on the handle, but still it didn't give.

"Matt! Try harder. Please!"

"Stand back, I'm going to shoot again." He quickly re-loaded the weapon, and this time the lock split in two. He easily lifted the hasp, pulling the door open and bracing himself as a violently trembling Kitty tumbled forward into his arms. Noting that she was indeed alone, he dropped the gun back into his pocket, slipped an arm around her, and guided her to the cot. Then he turned up the lamp and looked at her—her face pale, streaked with dirt and tears and devoid of paint, red curls tumbling askew. She had never looked more beautiful to him.

"Thank God…I…Matt, you're bleeding. What happened?"

"Dog got me." He swiped at the blood with his sleeve. "But you know what Doc says about head wounds." He smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "More blood than damage."

She twisted away from his arm. "Let me clean you up." She stood to move to the washstand, but felt his fingers close around her wrist.

"Never mind, I need to get you out of here before…"

But it was too late. Standing in the doorway, disheveled and wearing only trousers and an unbuttoned ruffled shirt, was Maurice Dupré, a pearl-handled horse pistol in his hand. "Aha, my sweet, I thought I heard a disturbance down here. I feared you were in danger." He leaned against the wall for support and looked at the newcomer. "I would inquire as to how you got in here, but it's obvious that I have been betrayed." His glance fell on Kitty. "Tell me, my love, where is Joseph?"

Kitty saw Matt's gun clear his pocket in a flash, and she quickly shook her head, as much in warning to him, as in response to Maurice. "It's all right, Matt. He won't shoot us, will you, Maurice? If he does, he won't be able to…to fulfill his fantasy. As for Joseph, I haven't seen him since he brought my lunch. As you can see, he didn't return for the dishes." She gestured toward the plates and small soup tureen still on the table.

Recovering his faculties with amazing speed for one so recently in a stupor, Maurice replied, "No, my dear, I am not going to shoot you, for, as you say, my plans for you—for us—would remain forever incomplete. I have waited too long, and I have come too close to lose you now." Still wildly waving the horse pistol, he turned to the man at Kitty's side. "But I may have to do away with…I'm sorry, sir, but we have not been properly introduced. Come now, Kitty, surely you were taught better manners than that."

"Of course." Kitty took a step forward, and as gracefully as if she were at a grand party in Panacea's parlor, made the introductions. "Maurice, I'd like you to meet my friend Matt Dillon. He came all the way from Dodge City to see me. And, Matt, this is Maurice Dupré; I believe you were familiar with his brother Alain back in Dodge." Kitty watched Matt shoot a questioning look in her direction, a look that asked what game they were playing. Her own eyes telegraphed one word—_Help!_

"Dupré," he said with a nod and extended his hand, directing it slightly off course and grasping the rim of the partially filled wash basin, tossing its contents directly into Maurice's face and grabbing the long pistol before the startled man had time to recover.

Maurice sputtered and swiped at his face. "That was not very friendly, Mr. Dillon, but I suppose it is what I should expect from a man who lives on the frontier. Such a wild, uncultured place." He looked at Kitty. "Certainly no place for a lady. Also, it occurs to me that you must be a very good friend," he lifted his eyebrows suggestively, "to travel all this way to visit the lovely Kitty. So, I shall presume you to be a suitor for her affections—a competitor in fact." He inclined his head toward Matt's gun hand. "I see you are quick with a gun, and were I to challenge you to a duel, I would most likely lose. That being the case, I have a much better idea; we will play a civil game of poker for the hand of the fair lady. Kitty, if you would be so kind as to clear the table."

As Matt watched her move to the table, he turned to Maurice, speaking in the same tone he used when breaking up barroom brawls. "Hold it right there, Dupré! I don't know what's going on here, but I am _not_ going to play cards for Kitty."

"Just one hand, Mr. Dillon. Stud—five card." His smile was smarmy. "Yes, that seems appropriate."

Matt gritted his teeth and stepped deliberately in front of the offensive man. "I—SAID—NO!"

But Maurice continued as if he had not heard. "Shouldn't take long. Winner takes all—or in this case, winner takes Kitty." He leered widely as he added, "And in case you're wondering, I haven't." His hand stroked his groin. "At least not yet."

"Damn you…" A swift, sharp uppercut to the jaw knocked the smaller man into the wall, sending him sliding to the floor in a heap. Matt reached down and lifted Dupré up by the belt. "Damn you to hell." He roared again as he slammed the dazed man against the wall. Just as he was about to pummel the cad once more, somewhere beyond his rage, beyond the blood thudding in his ears, he heard Kitty's protest. "No, Matt…don't do it. Please!" He let go and watched a stunned Dupré drop to the floor with a plop. He quickly removed the man's belt, pulled both arms behind his back and tightened the belt around them. Satisfied that Dupré would not be making any sudden movements, he turned to Kitty. "Okay, Kitty, I think it's time you tell me what this is all about."

She nodded, pulled the silk robe close around her slender body, sat down on the edge of the cot and said, "Sit down, Matt. It's a long story—and kind of complicated." Her body was trembling, but her voice was strong and sure as she began. "Alain didn't meet me in Denver. So I came on by myself. When I got off at the Market Street Station, a man was waiting for me…" For nearly an hour she talked, taking him through the kidnapping, the days and nights in the wine cellar, the touches, the phantom card games—everything. There were tears in her voice when she finished and looked up at the man she loved. "I should have listened to you, Matt. I'm sorry."

Not trusting his own voice to respond, Matt rubbed his hand down her back in a comforting gesture and turned his emotion into anger, addressing the man still slumped ignominiously against the wall. "Why I shouldn't take your head in my hands and squeeze it and that ugly mind inside it into pulp is a mystery to me, but for some reason, Kitty thinks your sorry ass is worth saving," he ground out. "So consider yourself saved, at least for the time being." He turned back to Kitty. "Let's get you out of here."

"Matt, I don't have any clothes. Where are they, Maurice?"

"Doan know," Maurice whimpered through his broken jaw.

"It's all right, I saw something upstairs you can wear." He stood and removed his own belt and buckled it, too, around the man's arms and chest. Next he applied a heavy boot to Dupré's backside as he pushed him none too gently across the dirt floor to the cot. He pulled the sheets from the bed, tossed one to Kitty and instructed her to rip it into strips while he did the same with the other. Then he used the strips to tie Dupré to the foot of the cot, finishing his handiwork with the same tight double loop knots he once had used to lash the thrashing hooves of calves headed for the branding iron.

"Come on, Kitty, let's go."

"Wait a minute, Matt…your head." She reached for a remaining strip of sheet and the damp washcloth she had used that morning.

"Later. We're not staying another minute down here. I can't stand the stench." He looked pointedly at the man sniveling on the floor and ushered her through the door, remembering the dead dogs as he did so. "Close your eyes—you don't need to see this—and hand me your sash. I want to make sure this door stays shut. He took it from her hand and quickly slipped the ends through the remaining parts of the latch, securing the door and ensuring that Maurice Dupré would not be going anywhere under his own power. "Okay, keep your eyes closed, and we'll be out in a few minutes."

With Kitty in his arms, he carefully re-traced his steps through the narrow passageway until he came to the ladder. "I'm going to need your help here, Kitty. You can open your eyes now." He watched her open them a slit and quickly close them again, blinking in the face of the light coming in through the trapdoor above. "I hate to ask this, but do you think you can climb the ladder?"

She nodded. "I can do it." And with Matt close behind her, she put her foot on the bottom rung and began her ascent to freedom. When they reached the top, she climbed through the trapdoor with Matt following. He closed the lid, then shoved the desk over it for good measure.

He led her to the desk chair. "Sit down, I'm going to run upstairs and get you something to wear, and then we're leaving this place." His long legs taking the steps three at a time, he went into what he now assumed to be Joseph's room and removed the coat he had measured earlier. Back downstairs, he buttoned Kitty into it as if she were a child. Her slim body was lost in the tall man's coat, but it did cover her. Matt grinned as he straightened it on her shoulders. "Probably not what you'd choose for yourself, but it'll do. Come on, let's go."

"What about him?" She pointed toward the trapdoor. "We can't just leave him to die down there."

"I could. But I won't. Come on."

He ushered her across the street and into the _Golden Gate_, relieved to see the manager and bartender, both of whom were familiar with him and his mission in their city. He quickly explained the need for the police. With a nod from the manager, Tommy, the barkeep, took off his apron and raced off in the direction of police headquarters. Matt ordered two whiskies and, with Kitty close at his side, moved to a secluded back table.

"Okay, let me take a look at that head of yours." She poured a portion of her drink onto the washcloth she had brought from her wine cellar prison and tilted his head back. Carefully, she wiped away the congealed blood. "It's still bleeding a little, but it doesn't look deep. How does it feel?"

"Stings a little, but it'll be okay. Don't worry about it, Kitty."

She finished cleaning the wound, tore the strip of sheet again and folded it to form a neat pad. Then she wrapped the remaining strip around his head, fashioning a bandage with a skill that would have made Doc proud. The wound taken care of, they sat in silence for several minutes, sipping their drinks and waiting for the police to arrive, each unsure how or where to begin a conversation.

"I'll try to get them to wait until tomorrow to take your statement, Kitty, but I can't make any promises."

"It's all right, Matt. It doesn't matter."

"It does matter, you're exhausted, and you need a good night's sleep."

"I don't even have a place to stay. I'm sure they're not still holding my reservation at the Palace, and anyway, I can't walk through the lobby looking like this."

"I have a room near there. It's not the Palace, but it's clean and…well, you'd be safe there." Before she had a chance to respond, Tommy returned with the same police captain Matt had talked to his first day in the city. With a quiet, "Wait here," he crossed the room to the man in uniform.

Kitty watched with little interest as Matt talked at length with Captain Riley, occasionally pointing across the street, sometimes glancing in her direction. At last Riley left, and Matt returned to the table. "I've agreed to take you to headquarters at three tomorrow afternoon—should give you plenty of time to sleep. You ready to go, or would you like another drink?"

"Let's go, Matt. Your room will be fine."

They stepped out into the night. "It's about five blocks. Should I get a carriage or can you walk?"

"Walking will feel good so long as these slippers hold out."

He took her elbow, and they started down the street. When they came to the enormous brick building that housed the Wells Fargo Bank, he guided her into the sheltered alcove of its entrance and took her into his arms. "Have I mentioned how very happy I am to see you?"

Her voice trembled as she answered, "I wasn't sure you would be."

His throat tightened as he looked at her; she seemed so small and fragile without her paint and dwarfed by the coat hanging from her shoulders. He swallowed hard. "Then I guess I better try to convince you." He bent his head and pressed his lips against hers, savoring them as if for the first time, tasting their sweetness, and kissing her with all the love inside his heart. He felt her hesitate, then rise on her toes and lean into him, arms reaching around his neck and holding his head while she returned the kiss. Moments later, arms wrapped around each other's waists, they moved slowly through the swirling fog in the direction of the rooming house.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

As they approached the building that had now been his home for several weeks, Matt's eye caught the glow of lamplight filtering through the curtains of his first floor room. "Someone's in there, Kitty. When we get inside, I need you to move back against the wall. Understand?"

She nodded and followed him through the front door and into the vestibule, obeying his command to stay behind him as he led the way down the hall to his room. She flattened herself against the wall and watched him kick the door open, gun drawn and ready. Then she heard a soft, cultured, and now familiar voice say, "I'm not armed, Marshal Dillon." She wedged herself into the doorway beside Matt and stared at the café-au-lait man sitting with hands raised.

"Joseph! How did—what are you doing here?"

"Miss Russell, I'm very glad to see you are safe, and if your friend will be so kind as to put the gun away, I'll be glad to explain."

"It's all right, Matt. Joseph won't hurt us."

He turned his head and stared at her. "Isn't this the same man who chloroformed you, kidnapped you and locked you in a cellar?"

"Well…yes, but he didn't hurt me—I don't think he could do that." In spite of being clad only in a silk nightgown covered by Joseph's camel hair coat, Kitty smiled up at the big lawman and took charge of the situation. "Matt, I suspect Joseph might know something about Maurice's drugged condition, and I think we need to sit down and listen to him." She turned to the other man. "Joseph, as you have somehow already figured out, this is Marshal Matt Dillon, the man I told you about."

Matt put the Colt back into his pocket, but remained poised to act if the man made a sudden move. "You mind telling me why you broke into my room?"

Joseph lowered his hands and began to speak. "I didn't break in, Marshal. Your landlady let me in. I merely told her that I had information about the lady you were seeking, and she unlocked the door for me." He smiled slightly. "I will say, though, that she did come by regularly to make certain I wasn't relieving you of your possessions."

"But, Joseph, how did you know to come here?" This from a puzzled Kitty.

"If you'll allow me to explain?" He looked up at the lawman still towering above him.

"Go on."

"I spent a lot of time thinking about the things you said, Miss Russell, and I decided I need to be with my family. I miss my wife, and I want to watch my children grow up. But I really don't believe the law, not even your marshal here, is going to help me, so last night I came up with a plan to get away." He paused and looked uncomfortable.

Matt nodded for him to continue and sat down next to Kitty on the edge of the bed.

"Obviously, I had to get out of that place—alone. Today, when Mr. Dupré came home from wherever he goes—the opium dens, I suspect—I served him lunch as usual, a clam chowder thickened to perfection with sleeping powders. I figured that would hold him for several hours—long enough for me to get to the train station, send a telegram off to your friend and take the next train to Chicago. When I went out, there was a note tacked to the front door. I read it, put it in my pocket, and left. I stopped at the Western Union counter at the station and took out the paper you had given me, Miss Russell—you know, in case I ever changed my mind. That's when I realized the person who left the note on the door was the marshal in Dodge City, except he wasn't in Dodge, but right here in San Francisco." He paused for breath and watched his audience look incredulously at each other and then at him. He removed both pieces of paper from his pocket and placed them in Matt's outstretched hand. "I couldn't send that telegram and leave—couldn't pretend I didn't know you were in the city and looking for her—so I came here to wait for you."

Matt reached into his back pocket and removed his handkerchief, unknotting it and revealing the blue poker chip. "How do you explain this?"

"I'm not proud of myself, Marshal. When I put the note from the door in my pocket, I realized the poker chip was still there, and I needed to get rid of it. When I walked by Jesse, I threw it in his cap. I knew he couldn't identify me, and…"

"Who's Jesse?" Kitty interrupted.

"He's a blind boy, Kitty. He's been on the same spot every day I've been here—until today." Matt looked at Joseph, his voice rough with anger. "You were in such a hurry to get away that you didn't notice it wasn't Jesse. It was Albert, and Albert sees everything. He identified you for me, even pointed out the building you came out of."

Joseph gave them his first genuine smile. "Then I'm glad, Marshal. I'm tired of running, tired of hiding, and no matter what happens, I'm glad things turned out the way they did."

"One more question." Matt's voice was low and controlled. "Did you really intend to save your own hide and run off to Chicago, leaving Kitty in a dungeon with that maniac?"

He shook his head. "Only temporarily. I felt fairly certain he wouldn't harm her because he wanted…because of what he wanted. When the train reached Sacramento tomorrow morning, I had every intention of wiring the authorities here and telling them where to find her." He paused. "What will become of Mr. Dupré?"

"With any luck, he'll rot in jail," Matt spat out.

Kitty put her hand on his arm. "Matt, Maurice has been blackmailing Joseph, and I kind of promised that you would help him. Go ahead and tell him, Joseph."

Joseph rose from the chair, walked to the window, and stared out into the dark night. After several minutes he spoke. "Three years ago I killed a man—a white man. I had good reason, but this was in Biloxi, and I'm sure you know how much chance I had of getting a fair trial. So I ran. Dupré saw me do it. He followed me, and he's been blackmailing me ever since."

"Why didn't he just turn you in?"

Joseph shrugged. "Too tame for his taste, I suppose. Marshal, I'll tell you the story, but I…it's something Miss Russell doesn't need to hear. If I could talk with you privately?"

Matt nodded. "Let's go outside." He moved close to Kitty. "I don't think anyone's going to be coming around, but just to be safe, lock the door behind me and don't open it until I knock." He slid his hand down her arm. "You'll be all right?"

She nodded. "I'm going to get out of this coat and wash up." She caught his arm as he turned toward the door. "Please try to help him, Matt."

xxxxx

A knock on the door woke Kitty from a light sleep, and she rubbed at her eyes as she hurried across the room, unlocking the door and opening it for Matt to enter.

He loomed in the doorway. "Don't you know you're supposed to ask who's there before opening a door?"

"Don't you know I recognize your knock after all these years?" she countered and grinned up at him. "Where's Joseph? Are you going to be able to help him, Matt?"

"Not sure. I'll send a few wires in the morning. Tonight he's staying in his room at the gambling parlor." He stifled a yawn and looked down into her tired eyes. "Right now you need to get some sleep—and so do I." He walked her to the bed and watched as she removed her slippers and slid under the covers. "I'll be back in a minute," he said and headed down the hall to the communal washroom.

When he returned, she was lying in the center of the bed, almost asleep. He stripped to his longjohns and approached the edge, saying quietly, "Uh…is there room in that bed for both of us…or should I sleep in the chair?"

"Here's all right." She moved backward, inching as close to the edge as possible.

The mattress sank as he climbed in beside her, and they lay in silence for several long minutes. Finally, he reached out and clasped her hand in his. He could feel the tremors running through her body and realized she was crying, tears rolling silently down her cheeks. "You're safe, Kitty…everything's going to be all right." He lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips against the back, then turned it over and pressed a warm kiss into the palm.

Her tears flowed faster, alarming him—Kitty didn't cry. He rolled over and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Please don't cry, Kitty—tell me what's wrong. Are you sure he didn't…didn't do anything…didn't hurt you?" His hand slid tenderly down her arm.

She shook her head against the pillow. "No, he…he…d-didn't do anything…d-didn't hurt me," she choked out between sobs. "But he…he made me b-break my promise to you."

"Kitty?" His voice was low and gentle. "What are you talking about?"

She drew a shaky breath and answered. "He t-touched me, Matt—day after day, he touched me. Time was when I…I earned my living letting men touch me like…"

"Don't, Kitty…don't do this to yourself."

"But then you…you came into my life. You were so good and honorable, and you…you wanted me…not…not just my body, but you wanted _me_. And I promised you…and myself…that I would never let another man do those things to me. And I never did." She turned over and pressed her face against his warm chest, crying as if her heart were breaking. "He made me break that promise, Matt."

He wrapped his arms around her trembling body, pressing his lips into her curls, against her temple. "Kitty…it's all right, honey. It wasn't your fault…none of this is your fault. It's over, and he's not going to touch you anymore." He tipped her face up to his. "Believe me?"

She nodded and lifted her hand to touch his face. "Hold me tonight?"

"With pleasure." He kissed her. He lay in the dark, holding her, stroking her back, and when he felt her body begin to relax against his own, he whispered, "You all right?"

"No—but I will be," she whispered back, her eyelids falling shut on the last word.

Moments later, as his own eyes closed in exhaustion, he felt a soft hand slide across his stomach before curling against his hip.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

"Hey, sleepyhead," Matt said softly and rubbed the back of his index finger along her cheek.

"It's too early, Matt. I don't want to get up yet."

"You don't need to get up, but I do. I have to send off those inquiries about Joseph, but I didn't want to leave without telling you I was going out. When I come back we'll go for breakfast. You'll be all right here. Want me to ask Mrs. Schlummer—she's the landlady—to keep an eye on you?"

"No, I'll be all right, except…."

"Except what?"

"My clothes. I don't have any."

Matt grinned. "Fine with me."

She sat up and playfully slapped his thigh. "Very funny, mister. You don't really expect me to go to breakfast and to police headquarters wearing this nightgown, even with that lovely coat over it, do you?"

He grinned again. "Yeah, you would create a bit of a sensation. I'll find something for you while I'm out. Now, lock the door behind me and go back to sleep—and Mrs. Schlummer's in room number one if you need anything." He leaned in for a kiss and walked out the door, only to return a few seconds later carrying a large valise, a hatbox and two small satchels. "Look what I found outside the door, with a note from Joseph, saying he picked these up from Unclaimed Baggage at the train station—and that your trunk is still there."

"My things! We really do need to help him, you know."

"I'm gonna try, Kitty. Now let me get out of here. I'll see you later."

xxxxx

Matt returned to the rooming house to find Kitty dressed and waiting for him, her skin flushed and glowing from a hot bath, face lightly painted, hair freshly washed and neatly swept onto the top of her head, damp tendrils escaping down her neck. His eyes scanned her face and body appreciatively. "By golly, you clean up real good." He smiled and gathered her into his arms, inhaling her lilac scent. "Feel better?"

She nestled against his massive chest. "Much better—nothing like a hot bath and clean clothes to perk up a girl's spirits. And I'm starved. If I recall correctly, you did promise me breakfast."

"Then let's get you some. Feel like walking a few blocks?"

She nodded and slipped her arm through his. "Let's go."

After breakfast in the opulent dining room of The Palace Hotel, Kitty stopped by the registration desk and reserved a room, leaving the departure date open. The young clerk on duty recognized the big lawman from his frequent inquiries concerning Kitty's arrival and, as she signed the register, he inclined his head toward Matt, saying, "He sure was worried about you, miss. I'm glad to see you finally arrived and that you're all right. And, we have a room ready, if you would like to rest for a while."

Kitty smiled widely. "Yes, that would be wonderful, thank you. And will you please have a bellboy go around to Mrs. Schlummer's rooming house on Mission and pick up our bags? Everything is packed and ready." She accepted the heavy room key from the clerk and turned to Matt, who was standing by, watching in amusement, as Kitty took control with her old confidence. "Shall we go have a look?"

They rode the gilded bird cage elevator to the fifth floor and moved down the hall to the room indicated on the key—502. Matt inserted the key into the lock and pushed open the heavy door, revealing a large corner suite with two bay windows. Kitty ran to them and threw her arms wide as she took in the view. "Look, Matt, just look at this city," she said as he stepped up behind her. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Uh, yes…beautiful," he agreed, not looking out, but down at the gorgeous woman whose red head was bobbing excitedly beneath his chin.

She turned and looked up at him. "So you were worried about me, were you?"

He flushed. "Well…yeah…I couldn't very well go back to Dodge without you. Chester'd get all mopey, and Doc would likely come after me with that Civil War pistol he keeps in his desk."

She smiled at his ruse. "Oh…in that case… Seriously, Matt, I understand how you came to find me, but what made you decide to come to San Francisco? When I invited you, you said you couldn't get away for such a long period of time."

He looked uncomfortable. "Yeah, well…" He led her to the velvet-covered settee and told her about the letter from Hickok, the poker chips, and the never-ending train ride across the country. "I'm sorry, Kitty, none of this would have happened if I had come with you in the first place."

"And it wouldn't have happened if I had listened to you. I know your instincts are usually right, but I trusted Alain…and, well…"

"You have good instincts, too, Kitty, and you were right to trust him. He was completely on the up and up. Your judgment wasn't wrong. He had nothing to do with any of this. His brother, on the other hand is…"

She rose and crossed the room to answer the bell boy's knock and directed him to place her bags and Matt's lone satchel in the adjoining room. "Have a good stay, ma'am. Thank you, sir," he added as Matt handed him a coin.

She closed the door and turned back to the man she loved, taking a step toward him and wrapping her arms around his waist. "I was so scared, Matt…so afraid I was never going to see you again." She placed one hand behind his neck and pulled his head down for a kiss.

His blood surged at her touch, and he knew she could feel the hard swell of his arousal through the layers of fabric between them. "I would have kept looking for you, Kitty, for as long as it took." He murmured against her mouth. "I have missed you so much." He felt her arch against him, her body seeking his, and he caught his breath. "Does this mean…would it be all right for me to touch you?" he asked, allowing his thumbs to stroke the sides of her breasts in a tentative caress.

Her mouth sought his again, tasting and teasing his lips with her own, her hand moving down his shirt, cool fingers slipping into the open spaces between the buttons and touching his chest. "It would be all right, Cowboy…it would be very all right." She glanced down at the small gold watch pinned just below her left shoulder. "You know, there's still four hours before we have to be at police headquarters—whatever will we do with all that time?"

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Captain Baedon Riley returned to his office carrying a sheaf of yellow papers. "It appears Marshal Dillon here has been burning up the telegraph wires—with some very enlightening results, I might add." He threw the papers down on his desk and turned to the man who had accompanied Matt and Kitty to police headquarters. "You say you killed a man—William Henderson—to be specific, three years ago in Mississippi.

Joseph nodded.

Riley lifted a telegram from the top of the pile. "According to the doctor who treated Henderson for a fatal gunshot wound to the chest, he was very much alive an entire week after the date you claim the murder took place. He did, however, have a secondary wound that shattered his right femur—a wound Henderson claimed happened a week earlier. And the doctor concurred. So, Mr. Beaumont, you may have shot and injured Henderson, rendered him helpless, even, but you are not responsible for his death."

Kitty gasped and turned to look at Matt, who stood silently by the window watching the proceedings with interest.

Riley turned and addressed Kitty. "In the eyes of the law, the only thing Joseph Beaumont is guilty of is your abduction, Miss Russell, from the Market Street train station. Do you want to prefer charges against him?"

Kitty shook her head. "No. Joseph was as much a victim of Maurice Dupré's warped mind as I was. He was kind to me, and, in fact, tried to help me." She looked across the room and smiled fondly at the man who had, in an odd sort of way, become her ally during all the days of her imprisonment. "I just want to wish him luck and see him return to his family—where he belongs."

"That can be arranged," Riley replied and opened the door for a sergeant to bring in a handcuffed Maurice Dupré. Riley suppressed a smile as Dillon moved for the first time, crossing the room in two long strides to stand behind Kitty's chair, a supporting hand briefly touching her back.

"Mr. Maurice Dupré has already confessed to the murder in Abilene, Kansas, of his brother, Alain Dupré, as well as to the murder of one William Henderson in Mississippi three years ago. The courts will deal with these matters in due time. However, Miss Russell, he is also guilty of orchestrating your abduction and holding you hostage. This is a crime, of a lesser degree than murder, but a crime nonetheless. I now ask if you wish to prefer charges against Maurice Dupré."

Kitty hesitated. "Before I answer, can you explain exactly what would be involved?"

Riley nodded. "If you prefer charges, you will need to remain here—or return—until a jury can be convened and a trial can take place. The jury will then determine Dupré's guilt or innocence. Sentencing will, of course, depend on the verdict. If, on the other hand, you choose not to press charges against him, he will be extradited to Kansas immediately to stand trial and be sentenced for his brother's murder. And there is, of course, the matter of the earlier murder in Mississippi. The two states can work out those details between themselves. What is your preference, Miss Russell?"

Kitty squared her shoulders. "In that case, I won't press charges against him. I'm well aware of what he did to me, and I don't need a jury to confirm that he did it. It's more important that he be sentenced for Alain's murder than for my kidnapping." She turned and focused her eyes directly on Maurice Dupré, revulsion clear in their sapphire depths. "You may have mocked and maligned him, Maurice, but your brother was more of a man than you ever were—or ever will be."

xxxxx

That night Kitty nestled into Matt's arms. "Thank God that nightmare is over."

"I was real proud of you today, Kitty." He kissed her temple. "I was kinda worried when they brought Dupré in, but…"

"I'm not afraid of him, Matt, just repulsed by him."

He laughed. "No, I was worried for _him_," he teased. "I saw the look in your eyes, and I was afraid you might tear him limb from limb."

"Don't think the idea didn't cross my mind."

He slid her off his chest and turned them on to their sides so he could face her, his hand resting on her waist. "You know, there's still the matter of _The Lucky Kitty._ The authorities are reviewing the paper work to see if your name is on anything."

"I doubt it—things were just in the talking stage. I never signed anything, and I didn't give Alain any money. In fact, he never even asked me for any."

"Just the same, you need to know where you stand legally."

"I don't want it, Matt, and I don't want to have anything to do with it. Too many bad memories."

"All right, we'll take care of it tomorrow." His hand stroked her hip. "I should have said this earlier, Kitty…I really am sorry about your friend."

"I'm sorry, too…about Alain. I was young when we met, but even then I knew he was a good man, and he deserved so much better."

"And I'm sorry your dream didn't work out for you."

"That's the way it is with dreams, Matt. When one dream doesn't come true…well, we just make a new one." She pressed closer to his body. "You've never talked about your childhood dreams, Matt."

"I…I don't guess I ever thought about things like that, Kitty. And now…well…"

"I know, Matt, I know." A sudden sadness swept over her; she understood only too well that he wasn't one to dream of a future he never expected to have. Changing the subject, she said, "What I told Captain Riley today isn't entirely true. It's not just that I don't want to tell my story to a jury. Even more—I don't want to stay around for a trial. Let's go home, Matt. Soon."

"Home? You mean to dusty, dull and boring Dodge…where there's nothing to do?"

"It may be dusty and dull, but it's where you are." She smiled. "And from now on, that's home to me." Then she shifted in his arms until she was lying beneath him, aligning her hips with his and tugging his powerful frame down to hers. She felt his breath tickle her skin as his mouth teased her breasts and traced a slow, scorching path down her stomach. She writhed with pleasure when she felt his hand delve into the warm, moist recess between her thighs, deliciously torturing her sensitive flesh with calloused fingertips. She watched him brace himself on his elbows, and she gave a soft gasp of pleasure when he entered her, wrapping her legs around his back and rocking with him, pulling him closer, deeper into the center of her being. And when, at last, their mingled cries of ecstasy resounded in the night, she held him close, whispering his name. Later, as he slept in the circle of her left arm, she dropped a kiss on his shoulder and pushed the damp curls back from his forehead, speaking softly into the dark. "This is my dream now—to spend the rest of my life in your arms."

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

_**Many thanks to all who have left feedback or sent PMs to me concerning this story. I appreciate them all, and I thank you very much!**_

**Chapter Eleven**

"I'm sorry, Kitty. I don't have a choice."

"Well, I do, and I will NOT ride on a train for five days with that maniac handcuffed to your wrist. And if you think I will, you're even crazier than he his!" Kitty's eyes flashed fury as she reacted to Matt's seemingly casual statement that the powers that be in Washington had determined that he, as a representative of the United States Marshals Service, was ideally suited to escort Maurice Dupré back to Abilene.

"Kitty, it makes sense. Otherwise, they need to send a man all the way across the country to pick him up, to take him back to within two hundred miles of where we're going anyway. It saves time, pure and simple…to say nothing of being economical."

She stared at him. "Do you really think I give a damn about the economics of the United States government?"

He suppressed a grin and put his hands on her shoulders. "Probably not, but that's who I work for…and I need to do what they tell me." He pulled her against him. "Frankly, I'm not exactly looking forward to this, either, but… Please try to understand."

"Oh, I understand. I understand that this is just too ironic!"

"Listen, what if I secure him in the baggage car, arrange to have his meals delivered so that he never has to leave? He can ride as baggage all the way to Dodge, and Hickok or the deputy can pick him up there. You'd never have to see him or talk to him. In fact, you'll never even know he's there," he added as he slid his hands down her arms. "Kitty?"

"Oh, I'll know he's there, but…" She sighed. "Okay, I'll do it, Matt, but if he sets one foot outside of that baggage car, I'm off the train at the very next stop."

"Yes, ma'am." He kissed her. "I'll truss him up like a Christmas goose."

xxxxx

The diminutive man known throughout the country as Wild Bill Hickok stepped up to the baggage car in Dodge City and, without ceremony, escorted his prisoner to the jail. Meanwhile, Kitty and Matt exited the passenger car to the cheers, hugs and handshakes of Doc, Chester and assorted townspeople.

That night in the Long Branch, Kitty provided drinks on the house for all the patrons and, after closing, brought out her very best whiskey for a private moment with her very best friends. "It was great to see you again, Bill," she said as she bid good night to the man whose exploits as both gunman and lawman were already the stuff of dime novels.

"The pleasure was all mine, Kitty," he responded, bowing with a flourish and kissing the back of her hand.

Matt extended his hand. "Thanks for your help, Bill. You not only saved me a trip to Abilene, but…" He dropped his voice and nodded in Kitty's direction. "You saved my neck with a certain redhead." He turned to that certain redhead. "I'm gonna make my rounds, Kitty. I'll see you later."

As the two lawmen pushed through the bat wing doors to go their separate ways, Hickok called, "Say, Matt, I'm in number twelve at the Dodge House—stop up for a nightcap?"

"I'll be along directly."

xxxxx

Hickok poured two generous glasses of whiskey, handed one to Matt, propped his feet up on the bed and let out a loud sigh.

"Something on your mind, Bill?"

"Just the usual. You ever feel like taking off that badge and hanging up that gun belt and bein' just a regular man?"

"Sure." Matt took a swallow of whiskey. "I feel like it from time to time, but then I remember regular men actually have to work for a living." He propped his own long legs up on the opposite side of the bed. "And as for you, if only half the stories I read about you are true, you couldn't be 'regular,' no matter what your profession."

"Don't believe everything you hear, Matt. And speaking of stories, you're not exactly a shrinking violet yourself from what I hear—and see."

Dillon shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, well…"

"You're one of the best lawmen the west has ever seen—the most decent, the most honest—but don't let this job consume you. A man like you could lose your soul to it. That's a huge price to pay for fifteen dollars a month and a pension from the government—_if_ you're lucky enough not to get killed before your twenty years are up." Hickok topped off his glass. "You're still a young man, Matt. Get out while you can. Marry the lovely Kitty and go some place safe—raise a passel of good-looking, law-abiding, redheaded kids."

Matt sighed. "It's not that easy, Bill."

"I didn't say it would be easy—not for you. You're not like me, not like Ferguson, not like the Earps. We can take this job, or we can leave it. And we have—more than once. Same with women. You can't. There's a fire burnin' inside you for law and justice." He looked directly at the young man he had come to like and respect, both as a man and as a lawman. "And there's a fire burnin' inside you for Kitty, too."

Matt squirmed in his seat and reached for the bottle, re-filling his glass. "This is gettin' kind of personal, Bill."

"Someone has to get personal with you—get through that armor you keep around yourself. Look at this." He pulled a packet of telegrams from his pocket. "You know how many wires you've sent to me in the past month? Forty-three! That's more than one a day, and they have damn little to do with Dupré—either the live one or the dead one. They're about Kitty and your search for her. She's your salvation, Matt, she's your soul. Not this job. Don't lose her to it, Matt."

Matt raised his head in surprise. "Did she say…well, anything about…?"

Hickok shook his head. "Nah, Kitty wouldn't do that, but…"

"But she was thinking about…she did go to San Francisco," Matt finished for him. He drained his glass. "It's getting late, Bill. I gotta go. Thanks for the drink and the…uh, talk."

As he crossed Front Street, Matt looked up at the flickering light in Kitty's window, remembering the words she had whispered into the dark, words she didn't know he had heard…_my dream_…_to spend the rest of my life in your arms._ He smiled to himself and quickened his steps, hurrying to tell her that he did have a dream, and that it mirrored her own.

"_Hold fast to dreams, for when dreams go, Life is a barren field, frozen with snow." _Langston Hughes

**The End**


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